


2am

by dinaerys



Category: Fright Night (2011)
Genre: Dancing, F/M, Flirting, Neck Kissing, just 2 pals getting their bump & grind on, mention alcohol like 3 times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 12:28:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9726905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dinaerys/pseuds/dinaerys
Summary: A fic I wrote as part of an exchange with my dear newaviator! It's about just an ordinary girl that catches Jerry's eye while he's out on the prowl. Flirting, dancing, and debatably vampirey kisses ensue.





	

You’d always sworn that you would never set foot in a strip club but—and no one would ever hear this admitted—you were having the time of your life. An after-party of some kind had the club spilling over with people, thronged with a thick crush of dancing, moving bodies below raised platforms with poles. You had no idea what the party was for—you had ended up at that club after agreeing to tag along with your best friend’s post-graduation bar crawl. She was lost somewhere in that crowd, already tipsy, having sent you to the bar for drinks when you first arrived and promptly disappearing. You didn’t mind that much, though; it’s been a while since you’ve been able to let loose and dance, sheltered in the knowledge that no one knows you and odds are you’ll never see any of them again. You leaned against the end of the bar, sipping a generically fruity martini and scanning the crowd, picking out places where the crowd thinned and taking note of any particularly threatening-looking people to avoid.

Your slow scan of the club stopped at the other end of the bar, a tingle down your spine and your heartbeat inching upwards. A dark-haired man faced you, expression partly concealed by the glass he cradled, elbows propped up on the bar. He was very still, an oddly static point in the ebb and flow of the crowd, and you assumed at first that his lack of movement was what caught your attention. But as your eyes lingered on him—and his very well-fitted dark tee and loosely styled hair—his gaze flickered in your direction and away again, quick enough to mean nothing. You watched his focus slide across the other patrons at the bar before it snapped back to you, hot and heavy even at this distance. You hurriedly turned your head away, shame curling in your chest at being caught staring, and resumed your scan of the room with what you hoped was a casual sip of your martini. Several breathless seconds passed as you steadfastly ignored the magnetic pull of the dark-eyed man at the other end of the bar, not so much watching the crowd as looking anywhere but him. Your heart slowed by ticks, settling into a nervously fluttering holding pattern but nowhere near the stuttering sprint it had built to. 

Another few seconds of calm (and sips of martini), and the remaining tingle of adrenaline was tugging at your attention, an adventurous edge begging to check out the dark man with fiery eyes again. You turned back to the bar, feigning interest in the drink menu before lifting your gaze and, with painful falsely-casual control, letting your eyes drift. He was still there, and his unnatural stillness caught your peripheral vision; the void of movement had a magnetism about it, inexorably drawing you in even as it shielded him from roaming glances from the dance floor. A hunter, your off-balance mind supplied. It was not an incorrect assessment, you decided as you let your eyes slide across him once more—the loose but intent grip on his glass, slight tension down his shoulders and back, and quietly flickering dark eyes gave a distinctly catlike impression. You almost expected to see a tail curled over one cocked hip, tip flicking to and fro as he observed the crowd.

Had you been slightly more sober and slightly less caught up in imagining the man as an unfairly attractive furry, you might’ve caught the moment his eyes slid in your direction. However, you were neither of those things, and you suddenly found yourself pinned by those dark eyes you had just been admiring. His face was fairly impassive but his eyes sparked, somehow darkening further as he held your gaze across the bar; you were fairly positive the floor was shifting beneath your feet, but you couldn’t pull away from his heavy stare. You reached to the bar for balance, and the corner of his mouth twitched up in a soft smirk. 

Smoothly, he lifted his Scotch and drained it in one swallow, eyes intent on you. He set the glass down and pushed off the bar with deliberate control, the motion initiating in his unfairly well-toned arms and rolling down his torso where, dazedly, you watched the outlines of trim musculature flex and shift against the soft fabric of his shirt. Slow, purposeful strides brought him around the corner of the bar, moving sinuously through spaces in the crowd that somehow opened up as people subtly drew into themselves out of his path. Your brain noted details in scattered bursts as you watched him glide closer—how a section of dark hair escaped his messy style and curled loosely down his forehead, how his eyes seemed blacker than you thought eyes could be and how his lips pulled back over his teeth as his smirk slid into a broad smile. As he neared your end of the bar, you took an unbidden step back, pulling slightly away from the crowd and pressing into the comforting solidity of the wall behind you. He paused slightly at your movement, one eyebrow quirked, and his eyes narrowed slightly as his smile sharpened and he took two more deliberate steps, rounding the corner of the bar and just grazing the edge of your personal space. 

His presence felt heady, heavy, blocking the twining energy of the club with his broad shoulders; his eyes still hadn’t lifted from your face and you fought the draw of his gaze again, instead cataloguing the individual creases in his jeans, the charm around his neck. He took another step and your stomach dropped in anticipation, another step and your hands trembled, sending ripples across the surface of your remaining martini. One more step and a large hand abruptly closed over your glass. Your gaze startled from tracing the curve of his side to his eyes on reflex and the breath dropped from your lungs; his smile had softened to a gentle curve in his lips and furrow in his brow, but his eyes remained sharp and intent and so very magnetic.

“Is everything okay? Let’s put this down before you spill something.” His voice rumbled low from his chest as he carefully pulled your glass from your loosened fingers, placing it on the bar to his right without taking his eyes from your face. “There we go. Wouldn’t want that lovely dress ruined by…what was it you’re drinking?”

“Appletini, I think it was supposed to be,” you murmured, still regaining your breath from the heat in his eyes and now the deep beat of his voice as it cut effortlessly through the driving bass of the club.

His eyes sparkled as you spoke and you saw his oh-so-dark eyes grow a little darker, his lips quirking into an effortlessly sharp smile. “I love appletinis. Apples in general, actually. Sounds like we already have something in common,” he said, chuckling lowly, and winked. 

The wink surprised you, as goofy and flirty as it was, and the spell in his eyes holding you immobile broke somewhat at the sound of his laugh. You relaxed against the wall, shifting from a slightly defensive curl to a casual lean that canted your hips outward; warm satisfaction curled in your chest as his eyes pulled from your face to flicker down your figure and back up, sharpened to a glittering focus. “Yeah? I’d say liking apples isn’t exactly a keystone interest for a lot of people. Got anything else? What’s your favorite color?” Teasing and flirting with strangers wasn’t exactly your strong suit, but this man had an alluring pull that somehow suppressed any of your usual shyness or embarrassment. 

He raised an eyebrow, slightly taken aback by your challenge. “Forest green,” he murmured. “Favorite flower?”

You considered for a fraction of a second. “Rose.”

The corner of his lips twitched upward and he took a small step forward, bracing one hand against the wall over your shoulder. His response was low and close to your ear and you could almost feel the rumble of his voice in your own chest, “how romantic.”

His proximity was intoxicating now, completely blocking the light and commotion of the club and letting you catch an edge of his smell, cologne and sweat and a slight earthen edge that reminded you of a garden after the rain. It took a second to recollect yourself for another question, and you silently willed your heart to stop beating out of your chest as you spoke. “I don’t see any issue with that. Early bird or night owl?”

The full force of his blinding energy flashed up into his eyes and grin and you thanked the stable wall at your back and his pressing proximity at your front for letting you play off your suddenly weak knees by bracing hard against the wall. His breath ghosted across your ear, warm and feathery. “Vampire,” he purred.

Your stomach twisted slightly at his words, an indescribable edge between anticipation, excitement, and unexpected fear; you skittered around the sudden feeling that he was a predator and you were his designated prey. The fear slipped away after a second, mostly willed off as you concentrated on the fact that you were in a public place and he was just an intimidatingly attractive man, not some kind of hungry cat. After another second, you won the battle with your breathlessness if not your still-rampaging heartbeat, and you summoned up a grin you hoped was half as alluring as the one shining from his face. 

You pushed off the wall slightly, pressing against the remaining bubble of space between your bodies and noting with warm interest the way his eyes widened imperceptibly. Your hands were still trembling and you focused on stilling them as you brought one up to rest, hopefully casually, on his chest as you leaned in to speak. The planes of hard muscle under his soft shirt knocked a chip off your resolve, but you felt the breath flutter in his chest as you pushed into his space and new confidence glittered with his imperceptible reaction. 

“Well then, vampire, I’m not here for the scintillating conversation, so you’ll have to excuse me to dance.” You inched closer. He had drawn back slightly at your proximity, pulling out of his lean to stand straighter so your movement closer brought you nearly flush against his front. His eyes were impossibly dark and deep at this distance, and you let yourself be held suspended by his gaze as you spoke. “Unless you were planning to dance too?” 

His nostrils flared slightly at your question and the corners of his mouth curled his grin into something bordering on impish, though a sharp predatory edge still glimmered behind the softness of his blown-wide pupils. With your hand on his chest, you could feel the way his voice curled up through his body and rumbled in his throat as he responded, just on this side of breathless, “what kind of person comes to a club not planning to dance?” His hand slipped up to wrap smoothly around your wrist and he took a half-step forward, scant inches of space giving way to light pressure against your chest and waist as his lean torso and canted hips neatly removed the “nearly” from “nearly flush”. He pressed you gently into the wall for a few stuttered heartbeats before he took a definitive step backwards, pulling you after him toward the packed dance floor. 

The combination of your mild buzz, the unexpectedness of his move away, and the sudden gentle tug on your arm made your first few steps not nearly as graceful as you would’ve hoped in a situation like this—it wasn’t quite a stumble, but your hand pressed into his chest a little harder than you could write off as sexy as you regained your balance. He certainly didn’t mind the pressure, eyes narrowing teasingly as he reached for your shoulder with his other hand. A few more steps brought you to the edge of the crowd and he paused slightly to let the distance between you close before he moved into the mass, slipping and twisting between constantly-moving bodies, drawing you after him until you lost track of which way you’d come. 

You had few seconds to turn that thought over in your mind before he stopped, dragging his eyes across the crowd before refocusing on your face. He tapped one foot to the beat, letting the motion spread slowly up his leg and through his body until he was swaying gently to the bass. The hand on your wrist loosened, sliding languidly up your arm until it met your shoulder, then both hands ghosted down your sides until they rested just above your hips, gripping slightly. He tugged you closer and the sway of his body pulled you into motion, matching his movement beat for beat. 

You quickly relaxed into the loose swing of dancing—after all, this is why you were there. A quick glance over the man’s face showed him fixed on the sway of your hips and a hot rush of slightly nervous challenge curled in your stomach. Experimentally, you swung your hips a little more smoothly, tracing a figure-eight that brushed just a little closer to the enthralled man in front of you. The new movement felt stiff for a few seconds, probably because you were thinking so hard about it, but after another few seconds the steps and sinuous twists of your intentionally-alluring dance were almost automatic. You took a half step into his chest, close enough that his soft shirt brushed your stomach as you moved. His hands, still closed over your hips, gripped a fraction tighter and his own sway hitched for a second; when you finally looked up, his jaw was slightly slack and his eyes unfathomable and slightly glazed. Triumph drew a cheeky grin across your face, satisfied at how you had turned the tables.

Slowly, you drew your hands up from where they rested at your sides and traced over his hands on your hips, ghosting touches across his wrists and up to his shoulders, where you linked your hands. He was slightly taller than he seemed, you realized, as the reach for his shoulders made you step into the last hairsbreadth of space left between you. The sudden complete contact brought you a moment of pause, and in your breath of recalibration, he pulled on your hips and pressed himself firmly against your front, touching nearly chest to knees. Your rhythms mingled as your hips slid across his, holding tight to each other for balance and drawn by a mounting energy. You swayed and twisted together, bass thrumming through your chest and thrill running hot under your skin. You could feel the trim musculature flex and shift where he was pressed against you and the depth and darkness of his eyes was positively sinful—your stomach dropped every time you met his gaze. 

The song ended, transitioning seamlessly into another with a slower, sensuous beat. Recalling his reaction to your dancing earlier, you pulled a little closer to his chest, curious if you could draw out similar response. You curled your hips forward into his, not exactly grinding but certainly increasing the pressure. You maintained your swinging rhythm, the slide of your belly and hips across his now something more like a drag. Holding this closeness meant pulling just a little harder on his shoulders, which in turn gathered you somehow closer into his front. His breath hitched hard in his chest at the first press into his hips, hands tightening, and his head dropped slightly with your second twist. As the song continued, you could feel his hands tightening and his face slowly went slack again until, with one particularly hard drag, he dropped his head with a groan, pressing his face into the side of your neck.

A hot wash of anticipation swirled in your stomach as his breath tickled your neck. His skin was startlingly cool considering the press of people surrounding you and the exertion of dancing, and goosebumps fanned out from where his face rested against your overheated skin. You grinned in satisfaction, silently thanking the fact that he couldn’t see the victorious happiness you were sure was written across your face. You moved against him, painfully aware of how he subtly melted against your chest and how you could feel his lips pressing against the sensitive skin on your neck. 

His hands flexed against your hips as one strong breath huffed across your skin and you had the distinct impression that he was gathering control. His lips moved against your neck, almost like he was whispering to himself. All of a sudden, a cool kiss branded the curve between your neck and shoulder. His mouth was slightly open, and you could feel the hard whispers of teeth as he kissed you again, this time in the hollow of your collarbone. He kept pressing kisses into your neck, pulling you tight to his front and letting you control the dance entirely. You could feel him feathering kisses at your pulse point, lips moving and the occasional startlingly sharp needle of teeth. Each press of his lips pulled the breath from your lungs, attraction twisting hard in your stomach. His chest vibrated, almost like a growl, he slowly pulled away to stand upright, lips still ghosting across your skin as he went.

As his face came back into view, you were slightly disappointed at how put together he looked—his hair was still clinging to its effortless style, there was no flush in his face. He was breathing heavily though, mouth slightly open and lust hazing across his eyes, which had turned almost entirely black. “You’re addicting, rose girl,” he murmured.

You flushed, triumphant and slightly embarrassed, and opened your mouth to respond—with something, you still weren’t sure what—but were interrupted by the sudden buzzing of your phone in your back pocket. Your mouth twisted in a wry grin, huffing one frustrated sigh before pulling out your phone and answering. “Hey, yeah, I’m still here. Dance floor. You want to leave? Now? Are you positive? Yeah sure, that’s fine.” The hand holding the phone dropped to your side limply, frustration and disappointment warring in your chest. Your friend had gotten word of another party and wanted to leave for it immediately, brushing aside the current club in favor of something new. 

You looked up at the man in front of you, slightly hesitant at his carefully neutral expression. “I have to go,” you said slowly. “I’m here with my friend and she wants to leave.” Frustration flickered across his face, lighting a warm glow around your heart with the clear evidence that he wanted to keep going as much as you. 

“Not a chance of sticking around a little longer?” he said resignedly. You shook your head. “Well, that’s a disappointing end to what was shaping up to be an incredibly interesting evening.” His lips curled in a crooked smile, eyebrow cocked teasingly.

You laughed aloud, still warmed by the depth of this man’s interest. “Tell you what. I don’t come here often, but I’d be willing to make an exception. Give me your number, maybe we can set something up.”

The hope that flashed into his eyes for a fraction of a second before he nodded and reached for your phone left you positive that you made the right call. He typed quickly and deftly, passing your phone back in short order. “Now if you gotta go, you better go before I lose my determination and keep you here. Don’t want to keep your friend waiting.”

You nodded quickly, swallowing a last flash of disappointment as you turned away and started to work your way through the crowd, scanning quickly for the exit. A brief glance behind you found him standing still, once again an island in the crowd around him, watching you leave with his dark eyes. His gaze was still magnetic, and it took all you had to turn away and keep pushing through the crowd. 

You found your friend at the exit, shifting her weight impatiently as she scanned over the top of the crowd trying to find you. She grabbed your arm as you walked up, happily shouting something unintelligible over the noise of the club before pulling you stumbling out into the street and toward a waiting taxi. She tumbled in, you following close behind, and rattled off an address to the driver before turning to you with an expectant look. “So…you usually aren’t that hard to find in clubs. Who did you meet?!” 

You blushed and pulled out your phone, quickly summarizing your encounter with the mesmerizing dark-eyed man as you scrolled through your contacts, trying to find where he entered his number. Near the bottom of the list you paused, laughter bubbling in your chest and another flash of anticipation pooling in your stomach. One word, one tiny picture, definitely a new contact: “Vampire,” followed by a grinning devil. Your friend squealed beside you as you gazed into space, a delicious shiver flaring down your spine at the memory of cool skin and hungry kisses.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah I shamelessly referenced Sherlock. It fits.


End file.
